Folkvang
by Kat Darling
Summary: "See you in hell, monster." Loki can feel the end coming for him, and he has no more tricks up his sleeve to stop this inevitable fate. He wonders truly if Hell is his soul's destination, or if he may yet be escorted to Valhalla. When he wakes up in neither hellfire or the warrior's paradise, he realizes that death itself was only the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

"Brother!"

The world around him was shifting lazily above his dimming eyes, as though he were in the eye of a slow moving tornado. A small disconnected piece of him could feel pain, but it was drifting away in the winds of this tornado. He blinked, trying hard to focus on the voice of his brother, but it too seemed drifting away in the spinning air. He tried to cling to the pain, tried to move in the sudden realization that he was dying. It all came back to him, he had been clever, just not quick enough. His hand shook as he raised it to his blurry eyes, covered in blood. It dripped from his fingers like thick syrup, but he didn't want to watch it anymore. He looked back up into the slowly moving tornado above him, he could see a winged bird flying quietly overhead.

"Brother!"

His voice was louder, the wind was blowing it away as it picked up with more and more ferocity. The bird was diving up and down into the wind stream, letting it be picked up and dropped down into the circle of wind.

He blinked again, it took much more effort this time to open his eyes. His brother, the god of thunder, kneeled over him, grabbing him up in desperate arms. He felt a drop of water fall across his cheek and be quickly swept away in the winds.

"My brother," he said, his voice clear despite all the static of the gale force winds. He wondered why his brother wasn't effected by the storm, his hair didn't move, his cape didn't swing in the wild ferocity picking up all around him.

"Loki, I am sorry," he said, more tears falling from his face and being swept away.

He tried to cling to the pain again, letting it shoot through him. He winced, his own eyes watering as he clutched the wound in his chest and pulled his body in to try and cover it. He did not want to die, he did not want to let go of the pain.

 _Sweet boy, you are dying. Say goodbye and we can leave this behind._

The falcon was at his other side, his brother seemed not to even see her though she clearly spoke to him.

"I love you, brother," Thor wept, laying his head down onto Loki's. Gods, he didn't want to speak. The falcon's eyes looked upon his so strangely human and calming, he knew what was happening. He let it go, let it all soar away into the eye of the storm. The falcon flexed her wings, casting shadow over him and his brother.

"And I you, brother," Loki managed to answer. Everything began to dim despite his best efforts, he grasped out toward his brother, grabbing a handful of his hair as he continued to weep. The falcon took flight, it's wing stretching out and encompassing the whole of the sky. Everything went dark.

His eyes opened suddenly, a gentle light poured down on him before he was blinded by excruciating pain.

"Please stop this!"

His father, Odin stood over him, his face strained as he looked down at the agonizing sight. Loki's eyes poured tears, he could not control it. His body had shielded him from this with shock, numbed him from the gaping wound in his chest that he thought had killed him. Yet here he was in waking, living, unbearable pain.

"It will stop when you let him go, Odin," the falcon's voice, off and out of sight to his left, stated plainly. He could feel Odin stomp his foot, wringing his hands out toward her. Loki tried to blink away the streaming tears of pain to see anything more clearly. He was no longer on Earth, he could see a tall arching ceiling of gold plated brick above him. This was not Asgard, either.

"He died a warrior's death, he saved his brother. I demand he come home to me, to Valhalla!"

So he was dead, yet the pain was unreal. He clutched his side, writhing in agony, biting down in an attempt not to scream.

"You cannot demand of me, Odin. You recall our bargain. The longer you delay his peace, the longer he will lay in my hall bleeding to death," the voice of the falcon said.

"He is my son," Odin pleaded, his voice breaking. Loki opened his eyes, seeing his father's face streaming tears as he knelt down next to him. A figure cloaked in snowy white silk knelt down at his other side, lowering the hood. He had seen this woman before, her long silken blonde hair and the piercing blue eyes of the falcon.

"I am not fond of watching this boy die for an eternity, Odin. Let him go," she said sternly, as though scolding a child. Her hand reached down, touched Loki's face. It was warm, kind, brought a comfortable numb over him. He reached up his shaking, bloody hand and put it over hers, letting the warmth spread through him more quickly. She smiled kindly down at him.

"It will break Frigga's heart if I don't bring him home," Odin whispered, looking down at Loki despairingly.

"He is already home. Let him rest, his pain is unimaginable."

The front of her silken cloak was staining a brilliant red, yet she kept her hand firm onto his face with no show of pain; she was shedding her own blood to spare him his. This was true magic, the highest kind of magic.

"Forgive me, Loki," Odin said, reaching out to touch Loki. Everything was dimming again, the golden ceiling and the woman were disappearing before him. He blinked, trying to look toward his father, openly weeping at his side just as his brother had done. This was death. He was home.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki woke again, blinking slowly at the gentle sunlight pouring through the window. He almost believed he'd been dreaming, save for the fact that this was not his room, and not his bed.

The room, much like the hall he'd been in before, was gold plated brick from floor to ceiling, the bed had red velvet sheets. His leather armor hung on a tall wooden cabinet along the wall, intact and bloodless. His hair, un-slicked, fell along his face as he sat up. He pushed it back behind his ears, looking out the window at the seemingly endless hilly meadows. This scene, and the woman, were so familiar to him yet he couldn't seem to place it all. He was dead, he was clearly dead and that much he knew. He was not in Hell, though likely meant for it. And if he was not with his father, who watched over Valhalla, then he must be in Folkvang.

He stood, his bare feet hitting the cold floor with resistance. He looked down at himself, naked, the place where a gaping wound should have been only an ugly scar remained. He touched it, no pain came from the place but he felt the echo of it, remembered watching his blood trickle from his hands, feeling the touch of that woman, the falcon. He remembered now where she was from.

The goddess who watched over Folkvang, her name was Freya. She was painted on the walls of a hall of Asgard, standing in that white cloak with her arms held out like wings over golden hills.

"Welcome to the hall of the dead, Loki of Asgard."

He turned around quickly, defensively, toward the voice at his door. It was her, her eyes staring unabashed at him in his glory. He grabbed the velvet sheet, wrapped himself in it hastily.

"I suppose knocking is not a custom here," he replied, his voice surprisingly hoarse. Her eyes moved to his armor hanging beside him.

"Wear, or do not wear. You are dead, it matters not," she answered, her eyes moving slowly back to him.

"Thank you for the reminder," he muttered, grasping for his armor. She continued to stare at him curiously.

"I would prefer to wear before we speak, if it's all the same to you," he said as firmly as his weakened voice would allow. She turned, her cloak billowing behind her, and was gone on the spot, the door closing behind her quietly.

He dressed quickly, finding his boots just outside the door in the hallway, shined and neat looking. In fact his entire set of leather armor had been polished, and gleamed fresh and prideful as he walked down the hall. The narrow hall connected to a dining area, where many people sat calmly eating from a feast of foods. A few turned toward him, no faces that seemed to know they were in the presence of a prince. Though his stomach grumbled and he wondered why, he continued on through the dining hall and into the great hall, where his scar panged uncomfortably in remembrance of his father's weeping and broken frame. She sat upon a glistening golden throne that looked liquid in it's brilliance, speaking quietly with a woman draped in the armor of an Asgardian Valkyrie. She turned, spotting Loki across the hall, and dropped to her knee.

"My lord," she said, her sword resting on her bent knee before him as he approached.

"You may stand, Hildr," Freya said, taking her by the arm and leading her to her feet.

"It is only our custom," Loki said, feeling a bit slighted. He was used to royal attention, despite his numerous betrayals of Asgard, the people still knelt for him. He shook the notion away, he needed to remain passive. If he did not, she may not answer any of his questions.

"There are no hierarchical rulings in Folkvang, though it is rare for us to receive someone of your worldly status," Freya stated, letting go the arm of the Valkyrie, who stood tall and sheathed her sword.

"May I ask why I am here, and not in Valhalla."

She titled her head slightly, bearing semblance to the falcon, her eyes again curious upon him.

"Odin did not tell you?" she asked.

"Of the bargain?" he replied. She nodded.

"My father keeps secrets better than anyone I know," he answered plainly, recalling the recent panful knowledge of his own parentage.

"Your adoptive mother," she said, eyeing him attentively as she spoke "was meant for my kingdom, and was graciously given to Odin to reside in Valhalla in exchange for a son, upon your death. Though you may recall him not truly wishing to part with you."

"I am not his son," he answered automatically, the disdain in his voice clear. She smiled a little.

"Ah, but you refer to yourself so readily as such. Prince Loki of Asgard, the god of mischief, so burdened with glorious purpose it overfloweth into the nine realms." She rose her arms as she spoke, the blood on her robes becoming again visible, her wincing pain stopping her from her mockery.

"You don't heal, you receive in exchange. What kind of magic is this, that you must suffer?" he reached for his own scar, mirrored in hers. She continued her smile.

"You'd rather bear this burden again yourself?"

"It is my burden to bear, glorious or otherwise," he replied quickly. She laughed, wincing again.

"A sharp tongue," she commented, pulling the string bow on her neck that held her white cloak around her. She pulled it away, revealing a simple, plain white gown that swept the floor beyond her feet. It clung to her frame, the same bloodied spot just below her chest seemed to be receding little by little. She moved with grace despite it, reaching level place with him in the hall. He bowed his head to her, the Asgardian sign of respect. Two soft fingers touched his chin and raised his head, draping him in the familiar warmth of her touch.

"I have watched you for some time. The heartache you brought your mother, your treasonous nature toward your would-be home, the betrayal time and again of your loving and trusting brother. Yet you die for him, you win him his battle and lose yourself your war. And you come here, plighted to me, and bow your head as though you are capable of respect?"

"Plighted… to you?" he repeated. That had not been what she had said before. Her smile widened a bit, no longer as serene and more like his, mischievous.

"The agreement was betrothal. The hall had hoped for Thor, but you will do," she said, stepping back from him. He was definitely not his brother, not burled and overly muscled, bull-headed or blonde. He was starkly contrasted, as much as she was to his mother. Tall, slender, raven black shoulder length hair pin straight. A piece of it rejected placement behind his pointed ear and fell into his face. Before he could reflexively brush it away, she did, taking with it the warmth of her touch and leaving him with the cold loathing of being compared to his brother. Betrothal to the goddess Freya. He thought quickly on the pairing. He too would watch over Folkvang, perhaps even have first say in the warriors who would walk these halls. An army of the strongest, proudest warriors of the nine realms. A dead army.

"Why did I not go to Hel?" he asked. She seemed not to expect this question, and he himself had only pondered it for a moment before speaking.

"She does not have a place in the bidding war of a hero's soul," she replied. Loki nearly flinched. A hero. How quickly the tables had turned for him. Something brought him back to his mother, her final words to him.

 _Always so perceptive of everyone but yourself…_

"I am no hero," he said quietly.

"You are like your brother."

"No!" he snapped back, his anger getting the best of him. The echo of his voice filled the vast hall, cast a hundred chairs that lined it into the walls behind them, the clatter causing even the steel-nerved Valkyrie to falter. Freya did not blink.

"I know it was a reflex, not a conscious choice to save Thor. It is not some grandiose, planned act that creates a hero. It is a moment when your courage in the fight and your reflexes in practice meet and fear, though present, is nothing compared to the possibility of victory."

"You speak much on something you know little about whilst you sit up here in your golden hills on your golden throne," he replied coarsely.

"You think I know nothing of war?" she asked, her tone dropping into one of equal frustration "You forget where I come from, then. Or did no one teach you on that snow-ridden wasteland of a realm you were laid to die upon?"

"You forget your manners. Freya was the first of us," the Valkyrie, Hildr, spoke up "Freya fought alongside Odin in the first battles. It was Odin's doing she-"

"-Enough!" Freya commanded, her voice ringing as much as Loki's had. All the chairs he'd knocked down floated back into place with a series of soft thuds. She spun around and was gone, the length of her gown where it did not cling to her body the last part to sweep away as she disappeared.

"You are a fool and it is no wonder you are here," Hildr spat at him, standing straight.

Loki hesitated, standing in the hall for a moment to process everything. He had, once again, been sold up the river by his father. Yet again, he was a pawn in his political dealings. As such, he was now betrothed to the queen of the Valkyrie, the goddess Freya, whom it seemed he had just had a falling out with. Not to mention, he was dead.

"Can't catch a break," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair, "not even in the afterlife."


	3. Chapter 3

Loki found himself wandering the golden castle to occupy his time, part of him looking for Freya. He knew he needed to apologize, to maintain a good grace with her if he wanted any peace here. The small part of him looking for her also craved her touch. That warm, numb feeling had to be some kind of magic and he wanted to know it. It was powerful, and power was everything, even in death.

No one seemed to bother with him as he wandered, they all went about their days just as they would if they'd been alive. He found a training room, where an assortment of the nine realms' warriors trained together or alone, slashing swords and pounding fists. There was a kitchen, fully staffed with a varied assortment of servants, some elfish and others dwarven, human and Asgardian. They all seemed to have their own kitchen area, where they were hard at work on individual feasts. When he entered, the Asgardian group took a quick knee for him, presenting him with foods to try. He took a slice of warm bread and kept moving, taking whichever hallway and not particularly looking for much of anything.

Eventually he found Freya, in a courtyard tucked away at the far end of the castle. The courtyard itself was an archery range, and she was shooting arrows at hay targets, each one hitting precisely on a bulls eye. She would hit her mark, and the arrow would fly back into the quiver strapped to her waist. Over and over with little change in her movement, she would repeat the pattern of hitting her various targets. He watched her go through these motions several times.

"You'd think after an eternity of this, you'd get a bit bored!" he called down to her as she drew back her bowstring.

She turned, and let her arrow go. Loki watched it soar in slow motion directly at him, his hands moved reflexively to stop it. The steel pointed tip quaked with stopped energy just between his eyes. He smirked a bit. She was good. But this was déjà vu to him.

"You'd think so," she replied, her arrow pulling itself out of his hands and resettling into the quiver at her hip.

"I wanted to apologize," he said with a small sweeping bow to her. She lowered her bow, released the quiver from the loop on her hip, letting both fall into the grass.

"Apologize for what?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Upsetting you," he answered, feeling distinctly as though he was a young boy again, apologizing for any myriad of pranks he'd eventually had to answer to. She spun on her heel, reappearing gracefully beside him. Her hand found his face, more quickly than he could flinch her away. He was beginning to realize there was more to the warmth her touch exuded than just to keep from cold. It seemed to wash away all his reservation, his anger and the constant seething ache of all the slights he suffered.

"Do not apologize for who you are," she replied. Despite himself, he sunk willingly into her hand.

"You asked me earlier what my magic was, that I do not just heal but take on the pain of others," she continued, her other hand meeting the opposite side of his face. Her touch was incredibly soft, cloud-like. Of course he had felt the touch of a woman before, even the gentle touch of his adoptive mother. But this was something else.

"You are more familiar with it than you know. It is pure, sacrifice. I sacrifice my body to heal yours, I sacrifice my serenity to deliver you what it would be like not to have so much hate in your heart."

That was the feeling. Lightness, the warming of the blood pumping through him that he'd long felt ran cold. This was a simple, powerful magic governed by something Loki had never been able to grasp. Love. And she was the goddess of it, able to give it away and make it look so easy.

"It's like a monster clung to your back, filled with envy. You were always in his shadow. Where it was always so easy for him, it was never that way for you and he never saw that."

Her words brought him back to the painful parts of his youth. He and his brother, so different even as kids. Where it was always easy for Thor to make friends, and he would drag Loki along with him, it was never the same for him. They were not his friends, only friendly for his sake. And Thor never understood it, never saw that he was buying Loki attention. Eventually he preferred to be alone, bided his time practicing his magic or reading. As he grew up, he learned to make use of Thor's personality, make use of his friendships, even the women who fawned over his brother had their employ. Though the end game was always loneliness. That part was inescapable, even now.

"They are honoring you on Asgard. Would you like to see it?" she asked. He hesitated. Watch his own funeral? The thought was a morbid one, but she seemed not to think so. He nodded, and her hand left his face but took his hand, leading him further down the hall than he'd travelled thus far.


	4. Chapter 4

They came to a grand set of doors draped in velvet frames held back by golden ropes. She pushed the door open, her gleaming bedroom stretching out before him. He was the son of Odin, at least by parentage, but even the All-Father did not have quarters this grandiose. Her bed was high up a set of steps, the rest of the room adorned with a few vanities and dressers where various gowns and armors hung with varying degrees of ornate design, type of metal, and fabric. Along the far corner inlaid in the golden brick was a large tub of water, gently steaming and filling the entirety of the room with the smell of lavender and vanilla. She led him to a white painted vanity, the words 'Here and Now' painted on the trim of it, and tapped it with her free hand, letting him take seat on the bench in front of it. A long blue velvet runner stretched along the table before him, where he uncertainly settled his arms as he stared awkwardly into his own reflection. He'd never much cared for looking at himself, he was nowhere near as vain as his brother.

"Asgard," she whispered, and the reflection of the both of them began to swirl away, replaced quickly with his home, Odin's castle.

His father stood, draped in dark clothing, his face solemn. Beside him was Thor, and further beside him the Warriors three and the Avengers, all dressed in dark clothing. The Iron Man, Tony Stark, work a dark suit and maintained his sunglasses; Dr. Banner, his tiny anxious self, wore similar attire and stared down fixedly at his loafers; Hawkeye, always dressed for a funeral, stood beside the Black Widow speaking quietly to her, she did not return a word but nodded; and, Captain Steve Rogers was for once not smiling, in military dress uniform with his shield strapped to his back staring out ahead at the crowd of Asgardian people in mourning. Loki had not expected to see any of them, and it was odd to think they weren't celebrating his death but mourning it alongside Thor.

Odin raised his arms, commanding silence.

"Asgard has lost a prince, greater yet, I have lost a son. Loki, you may have lost your way but I never doubted you were capable of as much good as you were destruction. You died a true and honorable Asgardian warrior's death. May your soul rest alongside your mother in Valhalla and may you await us all with open arms!"

Loki nearly choked. So he was telling them that he was in Valhalla? When he had not long ago begged with tears in his eyes for Loki to forgive him for trading his soul to Freya. The familiar, easy rage filled him quickly; he wished he could pass through this visage, come back home and exact his revenge.

Thor looked on as people clapped, the crowd fixed on the large casket at Odin's side. Thor took Odin's place, clearing his throat to speak.

"There is not a person in this hall that knew my brother as I did," he began, looking out to the hall as though anyone would contest him. He was met with silence.

"There is not a man in Asgard who could fight like him, so fierce in his beliefs, though we never seemed aligned in those beliefs. I know there are a great many of you I call friend who are glad he is dead."

Loki took a deep breath. Those words were all too true, and as Thor stared out at the mass of people again, he turned and looked to the Avengers as well. Some of them did not meet his eye.

"Just as there is not a man here in this realm or any other, who could fight like him, there is not a person here who could love like Loki either. His love for our mother was unmatched, his love for Asgard even after he knew of his true heritage, his love for me though I never could seem to find the time to return it."

Despite himself, his eyes welled up at Thor's words. Thor let proudly his tears fall as he continued, though Loki tried to choke his back.

"In truth, I never imagined doing any of this without you, no matter what side you fell upon. But I will do it now, for you. I know you will watch over me, remind me to be a better warrior, a stronger and wiser man. 'til Valhalla, I love you, brother."

"And I you, brother," Loki whispered back, one single tear making a daring escape down his face. Freya took seat next to him, her body sidled up to his radiating her gentle calm. She gently swiped the tear from his twitching jaw as he continued to watch, his sorrow for his brother and rage for his father mixing like an angry storm inside him.

Thor stepped down to take hold of the casket, flanked by the Avengers on either side. They lifted the casket, cloaked in dark silks and flowers, leading it to the river where he would be ceremoniously cremated.

Loki looked away, unable to look upon himself in the casket, his body in the same armor he wore now, his face pale and tinged blue, his arms crossed over his chest clutched with flowers. He closed his eyes, leaning his head onto Freya's shoulder, letting the tears fall freely now though he hated himself for being weak before this woman. She put her arms around him.

"Let go, Loki. Let go," she whispered, a hand running through his hair as he cried against her.

"He's lied to my brother. Told him I'd be awaiting him in Valhalla, when he pawned me off. It was always his plan from the moment he stole me from my home!"

She pulled away from him a bit, so her forehead pressed to his, her piercing eyes staring straight through him.

"Odin took you from my shrine, where you were left to die. Odin took you not because you were Laufeyson, that was an afterthought. He took you because you were a baby, left alone in the cold of a war he had won by shedding the blood of your people. He had nothing to gain by taking you, except a son," she told him softly. His tears fell more quickly, years and years worth of them all at once.

"Thor, do you see that?" the timid voice of Dr. Banner brought them both back to Asgard. He pointed up into the sky above the burning casket floating gently down the river. Circling overhead was a large bird, a falcon, catching wind gusts and travelling in wide, lazy circles around the smoke. The small, shining blue light that came up from the flames of his burning body, his being, floated up toward the falcon, who swept down in a large arc and caught it, soaring up alongside the blue light until they had pierced the clouds.

"That's quite beautiful," Widow commented, looking over at Thor "I take it the falcon leads his soul to Valhalla?"

Thor did not answer but looked to his father, standing a ways away from him separated by the crowd. Odin looked away, out at the river instead.

"Something wrong?" Captain Rogers asked him. Thor looked to his friends.

"When you are escorted to Valhalla, it is by the spirit of your warriors. We are escorted by Valkyrie, not a falcon. Loki did not ascend to Valhalla," he surmised, looking over to where his father had been standing. He was moving quickly through the crowd toward the bridge to the other realms.

"So, what does that mean? Did he go to… well, the other place?" Stark asked, pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and pointing subtly downward. Thor shook his head.

"He died a warrior's death. Regardless of all he's done, he sacrificed his life to save me, it should have been enough to have him sent to Valhalla, unless…" he looked out to the bridge, his father hurrying along it. He gripped Mjolnir tightly, a thousand decisions running through him.

Loki felt Freya grasping his hand, and he turned toward her.

"He is smart, for as Asgardian," she said, making him smirk a bit despite the torrid amount of emotion running through him. Her hand was warm, but that warmth stayed centered in his hands. She was holding back, letting him feel everything because he needed to. This was exactly what she had intended for him. The real healing of his soul. He was beginning to understand why she had told Odin he belonged here, why this was home. Why living under Odin's thumb and in Thor's shadow had caused him to, as his father had so eloquently put it, lose his way. How he very badly needed to be away from them both, lest he continue to suffer from the affliction of them.

She tapped the glass with her free hand, separating herself from him and standing. The cold, hurt feeling began to pervade the spaces her warmth had filled him with. He straightened himself up, swiped his face quickly of whatever emotion was left on it, feeling a sudden embarrassment at her gaze for the second time today.

"If you would like to rest, you are welcome to stay. I have business to tend to, and I must go," she said, looking past him out to the hallway. He could feel his head pounding, all the things he was feeling converging there and aching miserably. She reached out to him, touched his face once more, the kind smile of hers becoming so familiar so quickly. And in the same instant she was gone.

He looked around the expanse of her chambers. There were two more vanities within it, both of the same design but painted differently. The next nearest one was black, draped with a red velvet runner along the table. As he approached, he could read the words 'to dwell is to drink the poison meant for your blade'. The mirror did not reflect his image as he stepped into it, but was more like a dark sea that his presence created a ripple in. Whatever magic this vanity was, it was dark and alluring, a magnet drawing his hand up to touch the surface of the settling sea before he could think better of it. The surface lurched at his touch in the same way a dropping anchor would, black droplets spilling out onto the velvet runner and across the table before him.

"Shit, that is definitely going to stain," he muttered, attempting to wipe the ink-colored stains away. The sea was beginning to part in the vanity and he could hear a familiar voice, one he never expected to hear again.


	5. Chapter 5

"Loki, my son…"

He looked up, seeing the image of Frigga, her arms outstretched. The crying raven haired child who she swept up into them was the long ago version of him.

"My handsome boy, what is wrong?" she asked, stroking his hair as he held onto her neck. He could not have been more than 6 here, he struggled to remember this moment himself but couldn't pick it out amongst the many times he'd gone crying to her as a child.

"Loki!" Thor's young yet thundering voice echoed down the halls.

"Thor Odinson!" his mother called back, drawing resounding silence and then a quiet marching. Thor appeared in the doorway, his arms folded and an indignant pout on his face.

"Mother, I swear whatever he told you is a lie!" he said. Frigga looked down at Loki.

"What happened?"

He looked up at her, his right eye since having swollen into a purple bruise.

"Thor, what did you do to your brother?!" she took Loki's face in her hands, examining it for any other abrasions.

"I did not do that!" Thor said, his tone rising along with Frigga.

Loki sniffled a bit, wiping his face of tears and snot.

"He fell, we were playing and he fell, that's all!" he continued, his arms tightening up in their fold.

"Do not lie to mother, Thor!" Loki shot at him, making him roll his eyes.

"Fandral may have tripped him. But I punched Fandral, so it's all fine!"

Frigga glared out at Thor, her eyes speaking enough to tell him to go. Thor slammed the door angrily behind him, but Frigga chose not to pursue him anymore. She looked down at Loki.

"I did what you said to do, I tried to be nicer and to play their stupid games," he muttered "and they still don't like me."

She swept back his quickly growing hair and kissed his forehead.

"Maybe Thor doesn't have such great friends then, dear. There are plenty of other children to play with," she said, touching her thumb to her lips and placing it upon his eye. The bruise began to lessen.

"I don't want to play anymore. I just want to grow up and be a king like father so no one can bully me anymore," he answered, pulling away from her before the bruise healed completely, leaving a small black line under his eye.

"Being a king does not mean you are free of bullies. Only that you must be careful not to become one."

Loki did not look at her, instead folding his arms and glaring at the ground.

"Will you teach me magic?" he asked the cobblestone. Frigga laughed a little.

"Of course, my son. Here is your first trick to learn," she answered. Her hand reached out to him, her fingers flexing out to show a blooming rose in her palm. He took it into his hand rather greedily, admiring it as she smiled a him.

"Thank you, mother. I love you," he said, taking her around the neck again.

"I love you too, Loki."

The image began to fade away, leaving Loki to stare again at the dark rippling sea. Why that, of all memories, would this vanity show him Frigga? Of all the stinging hurt he could feel in one day, what was one more horrid heart-wrencher for him?

He looked up to the large bed above him, and found comfort in it quickly. His head ached, his body ached. He could hear Frigga's voice echoing distantly within the throbbing realm of his head. This whole being dead thing was not the picnic everyone had painted it to be. It was utterly exhausting. Then again, he couldn't have in his living days ever imagined ending up anywhere but Hel. This all felt like Hel's equivalent.

He found himself missing the escape Freya provided him. Where had she gone, what business had to be tended to that was so important?

He opened his eyes, looked up into the velvet canopy that hung over her bed. She fought alongside Odin in the days of legends. That Valkyrie, Hildr, had said Odin had slighted her in some way. That much they had in common.

"Odin took you from my shrine, where you were left to die…"

Her shrine, in Jotunnheim, was where he'd been plucked from. He'd almost missed that small piece of information. Her shrine, where Laufey had left him to die. Had she led Odin there, to pluck him up and take him to Asgard?

"I have watched you for some time..."

Perhaps some time meant all of time, or at the least she'd been watching Odin. Perhaps she knew more than she let on. If the first of her magic mirrors showed the present, the second memories of the past, then surely the final one…

He lifted his head a bit, eyeing the last vanity painted in a forest green. The mirror gave off a gentle sparkling light that shimmered along the white velvet runner on the table. He sat up, watched the sparkle for a moment, and took to the steps downward toward it. Painted along the trim 'a grain of sand can both raise and raze'. The twinkling light in the mirror cast his reflection in a godly glow. He tapped the glass as Freya had, the sparkling light began to fill the glass with a blinding brilliance. He shielded his eyes at it.

"You are not the goddess," a gentle voice spoke. Loki lowered his arm, staring into the glowing face of a sharp faced woman. She was made of the glow, her eyes sparkling like diamonds.

"I am Loki, god of mischief," he replied. She smirked.

"What do you seek, trickster?"

"Answers, mostly."

"You must be a bit more specific. I am not some tap and go mirror like the others. What you see here can change the course of your life, or in your case, the continuance of your un-life," she added, maintaining her smirk. He thought for a moment.

"Can you show me what will come of my time here in Folkvang?"

"Certainly. Recall my warning, and shield your eyes."

She swirled away into another glowing light, though it was much quicker to dissipate.

He was looking into the eyes of a little girl. She stared blankly at him for a moment, her big eyes a sparkling blue much like Freya's, with long dark hair that flowed down across her white nightgown. She broke into a sweet toothy smile at him.

"You're late!" she said, stepping back into a room. He could see himself entering it as well, wearing his armor, his dagger on his side. He smiled the same smile down at her.

"I humbly apologize. Allow me to make it up to you with a bed time story."

He took a knee as she climbed into bed, bowing his head to her. She giggled, settling in under her covers. He looked up, shifting her blankets to cover her completely.

"What do you want to hear about tonight?"

Her smile dropped.

"I want to know where you're going," she answered, her bright eyes losing their sparkle.

He laughed a little, his smile dropping to a dark smirk.

"I'll only be gone a little while. I'll be back home to you both before you can even miss me. Do you want a bed time story or do you want more vague answers to grown up questions?"

"I want to go with you."

He shook his head, his smirk dropping completely.

"Eira, that's enough. You cannot come with me."

"But I-"

"-no, child," he spoke firmly, making her frown. He brushed some of her long hair away from her face.

"Eira, you are too precious to me. Your name, is mercy. You are that to me, my mercy. I could not bear to let anything happen to you. Your mother would never forgive me."

She pondered his words for a moment, her eyes coming to his hopeful again.

"Will you teach me your magic when you come home, father?"

Father. This young girl with Freya's eyes, had Loki's hair. She had his sharp features too, but her precious eyes made everything about her softer.

"Your mother's magic is stronger than mine. Your mother is a goddess. I only have a few tricks up my sleeve," he mused, taking his hand from her hair and producing a flower in the palm of it. She took it, smiling.

"I love you, father. Please come home as soon as you can, okay?" She reached over and kissed his cheek. He smiled, though Loki knew it well as a hollow one. He stood, dimming the lamp at her bedside and left the room quietly. He pressed his fist to his mouth, his eyes watering a bit. The Loki looking into the mirror could feel his pain, not yet knowing what this future Loki knew, only that it couldn't be a pleasant knowledge. He walked down a corridor, pushed familiar double doors in quietly and ascending steps to the bed he'd only a bit ago been laying upon. She slept peacefully, the goddess. At her bedside table was what he sought, a necklace with an amber stone. He picked it up, held it in his hands for a moment before stowing it in his pocket. He leaned down to Freya, kissed her gently.

"Thank you for my mercy," he whispered. She shifted a bit but did not wake, and he stole away from her before he could hesitate any longer, pulling the necklace from his pocket and placing it around his neck. There was a glorious amber light that shifted into the glow of the mirror.

The woman appeared again, splashing light upon him.

"Always the thief," she smirked to him.


	6. Chapter 6

That necklace was sitting on her bedside table now. He had noticed it among other simple jewelry on that table as he'd laid down earlier. He went to the table, looked down at the bronze chain that held the amber stone. He was to steal this from Freya, so said the mirror. What was it beyond a simple necklace, not any more remarkable than anything else that laid strewn around it? He reached out to touch it, and was met with a terrible shock. He pulled back, his fingertips blackening and smoking from the blast. The necklace lay perfectly still, still nothing remarkable to it, except that he could not touch it. He grasped with his other hand a tiara beside it, bracing for a shock but not receiving it. He lifted the glittering thing effortlessly, and used it to touch the necklace. Another shock, though less through the conductor of the tiara, caused him to drop it with a clatter, spilling several rings onto the brick below.

"They say doing the same thing over and over is a sign of madness," Hildr spoke from the doorway. Loki smirked.

"I've never been sane, to my knowledge," he replied.

"If you're done playing dress up, dinner is ready and Freya wishes for you to join us."

He opened his palm, the rings he'd spilled flying into it, and placed them carefully so he did not touch the necklace again. He descended the steps toward her.

"A bit beneath you to be delivering dinner invitations," he commented, drawing an angry sneer from her.

"There is obviously good reason I was sent, especially if you tamper with Brisingamen."

He stopped, eyeing her with interest. So she knew what the necklace was. His tone softened considerably.

"Damn thing burnt me when I touched it," he remarked, showing his blackened fingertips. She laughed at him.

"That'll teach you what thieving gets you in Folkvang. The goddess lets no one touch that necklace. It is her power alone to give," Hildr answered. Loki smirked again, letting her lead the way down the halls back to the dining area.

Brisingamen held magic on it. Magic that prevented theft, so it must be very important. Then how had he stolen it in the mirror?

The dining hall was filled to capacity with Folkvang's warriors, all staring at the food before them with hungry looks. Freya stood at a table above them, two seats on either side of her vacant.

"Take the left side, thief. I am the goddess' right hand," Hildr muttered to him as she took her place. Loki obeyed, taking the seat on Freya's other side.

"My warriors are chosen first by me," Freya spoke out to the crowd, silence quickly following, "because they are the proudest and strongest fighters in the nine realms."

The warriors cheered, booming loud shouts of different derelict that mashed together strangely.

"We dine on the knowledge that I choose first, and there I choose best. In warrior and in king!" she raised her glass, filled halfway with a dark wine. The warriors before her all raised their glasses, the same strange mashing of language and then the mashing of glasses and then of hands into food. Loki looked at Freya as she took seat.

"Trying to convince your merry flock that I was a better choice than Thor?" he asked, taking his own glass and drank. The wine was sweet, and strong. She smiled down at her plate.

"Your reputation precedes you, even here. They wonder why I'd wish to lie with a god of lies."

He felt himself blush a little, looking at the woman before him. He'd never before heard a woman of any caliber speak so openly of sex. She looked over at him with her mischievous smirk.

"Do I embarrass you, Loki?" she asked quietly. The way she wore that white cotton dress, how it clung to her frame as though it had been stitched together upon her bare body, the buttons of it remaining always only half done. Every bit of her skin that could be seen was sun tanned, glistened as though painted silky. She'd had her long blonde hair braided down the side, laced in little white daisies. She sat with her legs crossed, the slit of her dress showing much of her calves and her dainty bare feet. She dripped appeal quite carelessly. He wondered himself why someone like her didn't wish for a warrior more like his brother.

"You confuse me," he answered. She laughed a little, taking a sip of her wine. A passing servant laid down a basket of warm bread between them.

"I suppose I would," she replied, taking a piece of the bread and pulling it apart. She left the crust of it on her plate, only taking small bites from the warm buttered middle.

"Why me?" he asked. She took another sip of wine.

"Why not you, Loki? You have always wanted a throne," she answered, another passing servant refilling hers and Loki's glasses.

"There's more to it than that."

"You speak of our daughter," she answered. He nodded, taking a sip of his wine and grabbing a piece of bread. He wasn't hungry, but it was something to do while she held all the cards tightly in her grasp. She took her time before continuing, finishing her bread and her wine.

"She's quite beautiful, so taken with her father and his delightful tricks. Could I deny the nine realms her lifetime of peace as their ruler?"

"Eira would rule Asgard?"

She smiled at him. It reminded him of that toothy smile of his future daughter.

"She would. At least as long as the grains of sand before us are laid correctly," she answered. He looked out into the dining hall, at all the warriors feasting and talking animatedly in their many languages. It was overwhelming, stirring, strange to think he was to father the bringer of peace to Asgard, when even up to a few hours ago he'd have liked nothing better than to watch it burn. He had never pictured himself a father, a husband; his head had only ever been filled with grand notions of a throne. Being a father seemed inexorably difficult, especially that he only had Odin as a guidance for it and he had only ever had enough room in his heart for Thor. His biological father, Laufey, had left him to die as a baby. Neither one of the two were much better than the other to him.

"So you lay with a liar to create a queen. Such grand destiny," he said, a bit more bitterly than he'd intended.

"We are not bound by the mirror. It only answers questions, it does not pull our strings. I have never sought out a king and I want nothing from you," she replied, looking out at the warriors now too.

"Then why bargain with Odin for my soul? Why make betrothal the condition?"

"It came about mostly from spite. The All-Father and I don't exactly see eye to eye," she answered.

"And you know how greatly it pleases me to be a pawn in the schemes of greater gods," he retorted. The strong wine was getting to him, making him unable to hide the frustration he was feeling. She laughed a bit, then looked squarely at him.

"That is not what this is. That is what Odin made it. Everything is a game to him. Hearts and lives are sport and he cares for nothing but war. You and I are both products of that, living record of that man's misdeeds."

"How did he wrong you?"

She hesitated an answer, swirling around the droplets of wine left in her glass.

"I was his greatest warrior. And slated to be his wife. Then he met Frigga. And he led me to my death to spare me the great shame of his public rejection. He gave me Folkvang, so that I would not haunt him in Valhalla."

She spoke with a plainness of a story told a thousand times over, still swishing the now microscopic morsels of wine in the glass.

"So you'll lay with the son to spite the father," he replied. She laughed a little. He wasn't sure he found it as funny.

"If you wish to think of it that way. I prefer it more of an irony of life. I have known everything you have learned today for a long time. Imagine what it has been like for me, Loki."

He found it difficult to put himself in her shoes. At first, it seemed comfy to sit here and watch him suffer his slights, make his mistakes, fight and bleed and kill. But he wondered how truly easy it could have been to let it happen, to justify it, to maybe even still see a humanity in him that everyone else had long ago given up on. He drifted to his fleeting romances in life, his embarrassments, his defeats. At some point in his thoughts his wine glass had been refilled and music had begun to play below them. The tables were being shifted aside, maids grabbed up by warriors and brought to the floor to dance to the music.

"They may not understand my reasoning for you, but they are happy to have an excuse for a celebration," she said, sipping on her own refilled glass with a smile. Her cheeks had gone rosy from the wine, giving her a glow that only served to make her that much more recklessly beautiful.

"My lady, would you care to dance?"

A rather handsome young man stood at the base of the steps to their table, smiling charmingly up at Freya. Loki had to admit he was dashing for a dead man, with lengthy brown curls and hazel eyes. A cookie cutter image of an Asgardian warrior. Loki's mind, increasingly sloppy from wine and rapidly moving, pictured them dancing together and his chest tightened at the thought. Freya looked over her glass at the man, then at Loki, that curious sparkle in her eye. Loki looked down at the man, who met his eyes reluctantly. His smile faltered a bit as Loki did not return one, his chest was too busy aflame at the thought of another person receiving the warm magic of her touch.

"Bold, aren't you?" Loki remarked. The boy shrugged a bit, his smile dropping completely now.

"I suggest you find another time and place for that boldness," he continued. The boy hesitated for a moment, looking to Freya. He bowed slightly.

"Yes, my lord."

He turned and blended quickly back into the crowd.

Freya giggled, her glass was empty again.

"Is that why green is your color, my lord?" she said, smirking at him. He pushed a piece of hair back behind his ear, taking a small sip of his wine.

"Only doing you a favor, my lady. He's much too young for you," he answered back, getting another tipsy giggle from her.

Making his decision with another sip of wine, he stood, offering his hand out to her. She took it, standing as well. They descended the steps and joined the chorus of warriors, who parted a space for them. Loki took Freya in his arms, his hands falling at the small of her back; her warm body loosening the tight hold of his jealous heart, and yet doing nothing to quell the fire now nestled within the very pit of his stomach. Her hands laced under his hair at the back of his neck, her fingers catching in locks of it as they danced together.

"I have waited so long for you," she whispered to him, her forehead leaning into his shoulder.

That fire leapt up, licking at him with ferocity. All of these handsome young warriors, asking her to dance for so many years and she had awaited him. While he was busy wreaking havoc on Earth, so set and twisted in his need to be a king, she had sat patiently.

"I'm sorry for the delay," he answered. The fire burned at him to get closer to her, as though there could be any closer than this. Still, he pressed her more tightly against him, which only seemed to set that fire more to blaze. She was the catalyst, the fuel of it all. Whether this was her magic or something greater, he did not want to fight it. He was finally warm, when all his life he'd thought every internal piece of himself was forever frozen in the ice he had been destined to die upon.

As much as he didn't want the time they were sharing together to end, the party did not last forever. They broke apart, unwillingly so and Freya began to bid her people goodnight. He watched her, as they gathered around her, bits of the kindling still smoldering in his stomach.

"She is enchanting, isn't she?" the boy who'd offered her to dance earlier stepped to Loki's side. He was terribly young, the closer Loki looked at him he could tell the boy was barely a man.

"So young to be fawning over a goddess," he replied. The boy laughed a little, his eyes not leaving Freya.

"You don't recall me, do you?" the boy said. Loki looked at him again. He was of Asgard, his attire, his look, it all dictated such. But there was nothing else that seemed to place him anywhere special to Loki.

The boy smiled a bit, though nothing close to the charm he'd tried to take the goddess with.

"My name is Birger, of Asgard. I was killed when you escaped from the confines of the dungeons in Odin's hall. While you and Thor marched off to save his princess we fought the other escaped war prisoners. There are a great number of us here whose blood you press upon the skin of the goddess with your filthy hands."

Loki stared at the boy before him, having now seen his face in passing along halls, seeing him in every face of every life he'd taken. His hands balled up reflexively, as though there were anything to clean from them. Birger looked down quickly at Loki's fists, his clear discomfort. Birger put his calloused hands up, taking a small step back.

"I seek no quarrel with you, my lord. Just thought you'd care to know that a great many of us know you more truly than our lady Freya. And we are ever watchful," he added, bowing slightly and moving to Freya as she turned in Loki's direction. Birger took her hand, placed a kiss upon it and spoke quietly to her. She smiled, nodded, and sent him on his way. It was the cold splash of water Loki had not wanted for it stood to be sobering him immensely. Of course this hall could also be filled with men who knew him, who died by him or because of him. And their reservations about him ruling over them were obviously well founded in that right.

He felt Freya's gentle touch on his face, bringing him back to the present.

"Hildr can take you to your quarters," she said quietly.

"Do I have those?" he answered, watching Birger file out with others into another end of the hall.

"You do. It's not far from mine, but I am not retiring to my quarters just yet. Hildr," she called for the Valkyrie, who begrudgingly approached them.

"Please show him to his quarters, and as soon as you're done I'd like your help," she aid. Hildr nodded obediently, and as soon as she left the hall sighed, annoyed.

"Let's go, thief."

They walked quietly through the hall, Loki trailing behind her slowly, looking out to the high moon that cast subtle light along the meadows out the windows.

"Did I kill you too?" Loki asked. Hildr stopped where she stood, and turned to face him.

"I was dead long before you were born," she answered, her face painted with concern. His head was in New York, hearing falling buildings and struggling masses of scared, innocent people fleeing from his failed attempt to pursue a throne. He snapped back to her, tried to smile a bit to shake himself off.

"Are you alright?" she asked. He nodded, too quickly.

"I'm fine. Just a bit exhausted, and a little too much indulgence."

The excuse seemed to work. She smiled a little.

"Don't try to keep up with her next time. Lady Freya can drink any man, or god, under the table," she shook her head a little, as if remembering something amusing she wasn't in the mood to share. She motioned to a door a bit further down the hall. He could see the goddess' quarters at the far end of it.

"Yes, you're not far away. She'll be up within the hour. She's putting the children to bed."

Children? He did not want to ponder much on the circumstances of children being in a hall of warriors. In fact, he feared dwelling too long on that thought. He nodded, pushing a piece of hair behind his ear and making his way past her to the door of his quarters.

"My lord," she said, as his hand touched the knob "Only because I truly wished anyone had been able to tell me this… the first few nights here can be very difficult. There is no shame in guilt, but don't allow it to consume you. It is like digging yourself into a trench and burning the ladder for warmth."

At that she left, quickly down the hall and through another doorway. Loki stood at the door for a moment longer. Was this what was happening to him? Guilt? If so, it was a new feeling he'd never cared to study much. He'd always justified his actions as necessary evils to show Odin who he was. Perhaps there was no necessity. Perhaps he was just digging a trench.


	7. Chapter 7

The room was decorated similarly to the goddess. There was a chest of drawers and a cabinet that contained basic clothing, and an inlaid bath, though his was empty. Up a few steps was a large cozy looking bed that he had no interest in. He tried to hum a tune his mother loved to sing, as he undressed from his armor and laid it upon the bed. He grabbed night clothes from a drawer, a tunic and pants of a forest green color. The humming became so strong, so forced, it was making his teeth hurt. He stopped.

Loki could no longer shake the screaming from his ears, the crashing of buildings, the face of Birger. He pressed his hands to his temples, screwing up his eyes and letting his hair fall like a veil around his face. His ears were ringing in a chorus of screams, condemnations, crying. He could not focus on anything before him, and found himself meeting knees to cold cobblestone. His eyes were closed yet they bore into his mothers, who looked on at him sadly from within the confines of his cell in Asgard. And the guard, the faceless nameless whelp of a man who told him not long thereafter that she had died. How deeply it burned him, those words. Each and every one of them had seared whatever was left of his heart into a blackened husk. He had destroyed everything she'd accommodated him with in that cell, sent it flying into the walls without thought. How the splintering shards of wood had flown through the air around him as he sat watching his own mind lose control of it's ability to destroy. He had had no will to stop it. The only person who'd ever nurtured his sense of self control was dead.

His mind cleared for a moment at the thought of Freya. She could stop this pain, give him comfort. He wondered how long he'd been crumpled up here, so opposite his usual composed self. He stood, slowly and unsteadily, his head still ringing and uncomfortably set upon his shoulders. He opened the door of the room he didn't care for and made for hers. He was quiet, knocking gently and receiving no answer. He wondered for a moment how many children resided in these halls that she'd be so long. He opened the door quietly. She was not there, but her chamber smelled of her and her warmth. There was a fire burning at the far end, keeping the room warm. He could feel his body relaxing a bit, the ringing fading.

The vanities sat at each corner of the room, still distinct and faintly calling to him. He supposed that was part of their magic, the need to know everything they held within them. He went to her side of her large bed, looking down at Brisingamen laying across the table exactly where he'd left it. Part of him wanted to try it again, see what if it still burned him. But he knew nothing had changed, and Hildr had even said it could only be passed willingly by Freya. He didn't want to think about the past or the future any longer. He instead laid down, pulling his arm over his eyes to create complete darkness.

But it didn't last. He could see the indignant face of his father, sentencing him to a lifetime in the dungeons of Asgard. How emotionless his face had been, even as he had shouted from his throne and slammed his scepter, declared that Thor would be the only heir. He threw his hand off his face and stared up at the canopy of her bed. The room was dim save for the fire crackling at the far end of the room, casting a wavering orange glow about the walls. He heard the door open quietly.

"I figured you'd be here," she said quietly, ascending the steps to her bed.

"Not like I can be anywhere else," he answered, his voice wavering a bit. He felt overwhelmed with sadness, regret, and guilt. It came on as soon as the words left him, he supposed those words held a most difficult truth. He was dead and nothing he was doing mattered anymore. Thor would rule Asgard. More than that, he could never fix any of his mistakes, even attempt to acknowledge them because he was gone from the world he made himself the bane of. His brother had said, there were many a man who was glad Loki was dead. But he was not glad. He was in mourning, for himself, for everyone who's terrified faces had ever met his blade, or his force, his minions.

"Loki," she whispered, drawing his eyes to her. He had a sick feeling in his throat that pressured short breaths from his lungs and nothing more. He felt like he was dying again, in a different and much more painful way.

"You are feeling so much pain, and as much as I want to help you, I cannot," she continued, her own eyes leaking tiny tears as she looked down on him. Her arms were uncomfortably rigid at her sides, and he reached out for them. She pulled away.

"Loki, please. This is the guilt we all feel at the end of life. Relieving the terrible moments of our mortal lives is part of realizing and accepting our death. I cannot take that from you. I won't."

Her voice was cracking with the tears she shed, and he knew she was right. His coming in here thinking she'd make every little ache and pain go away was a mistake. She was a goddess, like Odin was a god. Merciful, but not naïve. He rolled himself to his side, curling up like a child and hoping for the pain that seemed to be ripping out his chest from the inside to subside.

"Don't take it. Just don't leave me," he finally managed to speak, the lump in his throat releasing a stream of tears from his eyes and racking sobs from his body. He had never felt an ounce of guilt, regret, sadness, and it seemed that all along he'd been accumulating it. And here it all was, eating him up from the inside.

He felt her body next to his, her arms wrapped around him and her tear streaked face nuzzling into his shoulder. She held him tightly, as though without magic she could still hold some of his pieces together. He rolled over, wrapped his arms around her and let the racking sobs shake his entire body. He had never felt more miserable, more alone, more helpless than he did in this moment. He just wanted it all to end, though it already had.


	8. Chapter 8

"You want us to kill you?"

Dr. Bruce Banner blinked, once and then several more times as though that would clear his vision of the God of Thunder standing drunk and indignant in the middle of his lab.

"Yes. I don't believe I stuttered," he answered, looking over at Stark, who quickly grabbed a beaker and pretended to examine the contents inside, swishing it around. Banner snatched it gently from him.

"That's a noxious chemical compound for poison, not a Zinfandel. Now tell him we are not going to murder him," he said, glaring at Stark until he took a step down from the table to meet Thor eye to eye. Looking at the normally striking God of Thunder, Stark found himself troubled by the dark, sallow rings forming under his eyes.

"What exactly will we accomplish by doing you in, Thor? It sounds exhausting killing a god, and I've already hit the gym today."

Thor's tired, bloodshot eyes remained steely.

"Then don't kill me. Put me into a coma. I can leave this world and travel to Folkvang and collect Loki."

Banner shook his head immediately. Stark however, seemed to ponder the thought.

"Tony, I'm not putting him into a medically induced coma so he can go rescue the guy who we stopped from destroying the world like… a month ago," Banner stated firmly. Stark held up his hand to Banner.

"Calm down, the sun sets in the west or however it goes. Listen Thor, all the meds in the world probably couldn't get you yawning let alone comatose. And like Banner said, there is no benefit for us to help you get Loki back so he can just destroy the world again. He's gone, Thor. He's gone."

Thor slammed his fist down on the table beside him, rattling various mixtures and knocking several beakers from the table. A rumbling could be heard from somewhere above them.

"He's not gone!" he shouted. Another thunderous rumble from above. Banner stepped back a bit, wringing his hands uncomfortably.

"He is. He died. You held him in your arms and watched him die. And guess what? We've all been there. We've all lost family," Stark said, though he too took a step back.

"Yes, we have. But I would never be glad for any of yours. And if they could be brought back, I would be by your side for anything it took."

They were all silent. Thor, with even all the liquid courage he'd consumed before coming, had known neither one of them would help him. Odin had refused to open the gates for him. The Avengers refused to kill him.

His steely resolve lessened, his shoulders slackened. He took a last look at Stark, then at Banner. He was on his own here.

"Thor, don't do anything rash," Banner warned. But Mjolnir was spinning and he was gone, crashing through a large window and leaving the dark clouds of a coming storm in his wake.

Stark didn't bother looking up from re-swirling the poison.

"Between him and you, my insurance _and_ my blood pressure, through the roof..."


	9. Chapter 9

He wasn't sure what had woken him first, the indescribable heat or the cough inducing burn in his throat. His eyes shot open, staring into the fire licking dangerously close to his face. Loki shot up to his feet, taking in his surroundings quickly, his heart racing. The great hall of Asgard was burning, flames leaping from curtain to rug to table runner and incinerating everything. He was right in the middle of it all. He looked around for anyone else, this hall was never empty but it seemed everyone had evacuated without him. To his left up the steps was Odin's throne, vacant and unscathed by the fire surrounding it. To his right was the open doorway to the outside, his safety, quickly becoming engulfed in flames. He ran toward the door, as quickly as he could but it only seemed to be getting further away.

"Where are you going, brother?" a woman's cold voice echoed above him. He looked up, he could see no one at all. He spun around, still grounded in the same spot and running out of breathable air quickly. He looked back at the unscathed throne, which seemed even closer now than ever.

"It's finally yours, all yours. So, take it."

He felt himself being pulled, almost by an invisible rope of sorts, toward the throne. He tried to fight it, pull against the tie that bound him but his feet continued to drag and stumble up the steps. His scepter, glowing blue against the red flames around it, appeared along with his helmet, gleaming against the multitude of light, upon the seat of the throne. They floated up, took place in his hand and on his head, and the ties forced him seated, wrapped around him and locked him to the throne. The searing heat burned his flesh, but he could not move an inch. He was trapped. The king of Asgard, burning alive on the throne.

His eyes shot open again. His chest felt heavy, his heart was still beating rapidly and he could feel sweat pouring from him. He looked down, Freya was sleeping peacefully across him. He was glad not to have startled her, she was still fast asleep with her head nestled on his chest and her arm thrown across him. The beginnings of sunlight were pouring through the curtained windows along the walls, but it was still much too early to be awake. He tried to settle his rapid mind and beating heart, by looking down at her. Her hair had come loose from the braid in her sleep, splaying across his chest, the little daisies that had nestled in it fell across the bed. He reached out with his free arm, the other was underneath her, and ran his fingers through her blonde locks. They were silken, much like he imagined, and soothing. He continued to stroke her long hair, listening to her quiet rhythmic breathing. He supposed as soon as the nightmares subsided, he could very easily adapt to a life like this.

An unnatural pounding on the door shot both of their heads up suddenly.

"M'lady! M'lady! An Asgardian man had burst through the gates and is wreaking havoc in the halls!"

Freya and Loki looked to each other. Loki smiled halfheartedly.

"I honestly thought it would take him a bit longer."


	10. Chapter 10

"Where is my brother?!"

Thor was throwing warriors about the hall left and right, every group who attempted to seize him were thrown back in a hammer wielding rage.

"My boy, this endeavor is a fruitless one! We cannot die here!" An old warrior shouted at Thor as he raised his shield to an incoming thunderbolt.

"Give me Loki and I will go!" Thor shouted back, more thunder hammering down on the shields of the warriors.

"You can have him, boy!" the old warrior called with a raucous laugh that many around him echoed. They charged Thor, who seemed to pulsate with thunderous energy.

"ENOUGH!"

The warriors froze. Thor himself froze, looking up at the source of the booming voice.

Freya stood in front of her throne, her white dress covered by shining armor; Brisingamen swung from around her neck as she pulled back the string of her bow, the tensioned arrow aimed straight at Thor. The warriors parted, not wanting to stand in her warpath.

Thor kneeled, nearly falling over but catching himself on Mjolnir.

"Goddess Freya, I-" he began.

"-I do not care who you are. You are not dead and you do not belong here," she finished for him, lowering her bow and pulling the arrow free of it. She placed it slowly into the quiver on her hip, not taking her eyes off of Thor as she did.

"With all due respect, Goddess, I am the ruler of Asgard and I go where I please," he shot back, wobbling a bit on the hilt of Mjolnir.

"The ruler of Asgardian wines, perhaps," she retorted, holstering her bow, "Hildr! Send for Odin to come and collect his whelp of a son."

Hildr pulled herself up from the group of warriors and made her way through them toward the end of the hall.

"You will not find him in Asgard," Thor said quietly. Hildr stopped, a few feet from him.

"What have you done?" she said. He looked over at her, his greasy blonde locks crossing his face.

"Odin was banished for treason," he answered back.

"Treason?" Freya repeated, stepping down to the Hall floor towards Thor.

"Treason against the royal family. He sold my brother's soul to you, that was not his right."

Freya laughed, reaching Thor with floating feet. He stared down at her bare toes, how they barely even touched the ground as she walked. Then ever so slowly, his bloodshot eyes followed her frame carefully up to her face.

"Watch yourself, little boy," she said softly, her eyes glaring hellfire into him. Thor stood, towering over her in close proximity.

"I assure you, my lady, there is nothing little about me," he responded in a mocking softness. The warriors surrounding them began to hoist their shields, but Freya waved them off.

"Not anywhere she can see, anyhow."

Loki stepped out from behind the throne, a coy smile upon his face. As worse for the wear as his brother looked in his dirty attire and unkempt beard, he was happy to see Thor.

"Brother!" Thor exclaimed, trying to step past Freya. She put a hand to his chest and pushed him back with surprising force.

"Brother, where are you? I can hear you! Where are you keeping him?!" Thor exclaimed, grabbing Freya's arm. Her other hand took his wrist and twisted it, a violent crack echoed throughout the hall. Thor stole back his now broken wrist, grunting with agony.

"Oh, that sounded unpleasant," Loki commented, stepping up beside Freya.

"Big man, dainty wrists," Freya replied, tapping Loki gently with her finger. Brisingamen glowed for a moment at her neck, filling Loki with a strange sensation similar to drinking water after a bout of thirst.

"You… are a beautiful devil woman…" Thor grunted, with a sickening pop putting his wrist back in it's rightful place.

"He can see you now, Loki, but listen to me carefully," Freya said, turning to Loki with the same angry eyes she'd had for Thor "he cannot stay here. He cannot drink here. He cannot cause me any more grief or he will have a true and good reason to be here. He is under your care."

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but she vanished, the last bit of her dress the last thing to disappear. The warriors cleared out of the hall in sullen masses, obviously upset their battle was over so soon.

Thor looked up at Loki, smiling at his brother as he nursed his arm against his chest.

"I've missed you," he said with a grin. Loki smiled back.

"Was I really worth a broken arm though?" he replied. Thor took him into a great hug, squeezing him so tightly he could barely breathe.

"Thor have you been living in a barn?"

It was clear that Thor had not taken great care of himself as of late. His beard was scraggly, his attire dirty; and he smelled like a barkeep's rag. Thor let him go, pulling his wrist back to his chest with a strange look.

"You're not carrying on like this because of me, are you?" Loki asked, looking him up and down. Thor made a small strangled noise.

"You were my enemy for some of our life, but you were my best friend for all of it. It has been difficult to be without you," he said quietly, staring down at his muddy boots.

"Brother, you hate me. You have always hated me. What about my death changed any of it?"

"I don't hate you, Loki," Thor shot back immediately, "I never understood what your obsession with the throne was. What your hatred of father was. I know he never told you Laufey was your real father, that you were not of Asgard. But I always figured he never wanted for anyone to feel differently about you. When I confronted him about all of this… when he finally told me the truth… I think I finally saw him the way you do. A monster."

"What did he tell you?" Loki asked quietly. Thor shook his head, his good hand pulling his hair back and away from his face.

"That he had murdered Freya so he could marry my mother. And to keep her quiet, he gave her Folkvang and promised her a son. That he took you from Jotunheim with every intention for you to be the son he gave away. He had no right, brother. He had no right to do any of it!" Thor shouted angrily. Loki looked out into the hall, the golden bricks looking on dimly back. There was something strange about Thor finally knowing the same truth Loki had known for years.

Loki thought back, back to the day he'd found out who he really was. The lie, the grand lie of it all. Odin had never come out and admitted to him that he was a pawn. But it had never made sense any other way. Odin was not an affectionate man, no philanthropist. He was a ruler, a conqueror.

Loki scoffed a bit. He wondered if his mother knew. If Frigga knew she'd been raising a sow for the slaughter over a son. It made his chest ache, the hurt and anger. He wished for Freya to come back, take this pain or to speak it out of existence with her kind hearted words. She was the only one who had never doubted him. Even looking at the broken man he'd been raised alongside, who had only recently come to the realization Loki had lived with for years, didn't help him feel any better. Thor shed a shameful tear, quickly wiping it away and turning around to admire the hall.

"Beautiful place you've got here," he muttered to no one in particular.

In fact, it all made him feel a bit bad for Thor. He had always looked up to Odin, done everything all his days to Odin's will and now, without anyone to guide him he seemed to be falling apart before Loki's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Loki said quietly.

Thor shook his head, done with all the emotion between them.

"Are you going to show me around, at least?"


	11. Chapter 11

"I've only just arrived here, so I don't much know where everything is," Loki said as they walked.

"What do you mean? It's been a month," Thor answered, admiring the halls and looking out every window they passed.

"Time moves differently here," he responded. Several Asgardians took a knee as they passed.

"That is evident. Are you being taken care of here?"

Loki stopped as they passed a particular window, turning back to look out. Freya was out on the grounds below them, a group of children surrounding her excitedly.

"There are children here? This is a hall of warriors," Thor commented. Loki nodded, watching Freya. She'd doffed her armor, her bow, they sat far off in the shade of a tree. The children scattered excitedly, and she spun around in the grass several times, her hands over her eyes, laughing.

"She's a sight," Thor commented. Loki's eyes narrowed at him.

"No, Thor," he warned. Thor smirked a bit at him, raising his hands in defense.

"No what, Loki? I'm not doing anything."

"You know exactly what I speak of, brother. What you always do, every time."

"I promise you I don't know what you're referring to, brother," Thor said with a wider grin now. Loki looked back down toward Freya. She was looking up, directly at him. He smiled at her, she returned it. Thor nudged him in the window, waving out at Freya. She rolled her eyes, walking away.

"You see? She doesn't even like me," Thor said. Loki pushed him away.

"That'll only encourage you," Loki muttered, turning from the windowsill and nearly running into Hildr, who stood stiffly behind them both.

"Gods, you're a quiet one," Thor remarked. She glanced at him for a moment, then turned her attention back to Loki.

"My lord, the lady inquires if the 'King of Asgardian Wines' is staying for dinner," Hildr said quietly, glancing up at Thor again as he laughed.

"My lord!" he howled, slapping Loki harshly on the shoulder.

Hildr did not react.

"So… is that a yes?"

"Yes, he will. And then he will go, and torment someone else," Loki answered, rubbing his shoulder.

Thor smiled down at his brother, the grin itself lighting his tired face and making it almost recognizable.

"Then let us go, and clean you up. You look more like a bum than a king," Hildr said. Thor laughed again and followed her off down the hall, leaving Loki to watch them go. He turned out the window again, but everyone had gone. He felt a strange pang of loneliness, looking out the window at the endless golden hills.


	12. Chapter 12

If there was ever a reason to party, celebrating the new King of Asgard was the grandest of them all.

The warriors were running about in polished armor, most already egregiously drunk and swinging full mugs around carelessly cheering to slurred toasts. Loki, having given a good once over to his own armor, took up a spot next to Freya, eyeing her. She was dressed to the nines, her long blonde waves down and flowing across her back like a sunlit waterfall; her dress was a pale blue, highlighting her eyes and sun-soaked skin. The neckline of it came down low and was tied together loosely by a ribbon just above her navel, leaving peeks and hints of that skin further down. Loki found himself focusing on it so much he didn't notice Thor coming to his other side and taking the wine from Loki's plate.

"Hey!" he called, but Thor was already down amongst the warriors, clinking his glass to theirs and cheering.

"Enough of that will kill him, and you'll never be rid of him if he dies here," she remarked, sipping her own wine carefully. Her face was hardened as she watched Thor quickly making a drunken fool of himself amongst her people. Music began to play quietly amongst the chaos.

"I know not a single soul in any world that can control my brother," he answered, a young boy setting down another fresh glass at Loki's side.

"You do now," she answered, "but don't make me. He didn't seem to enjoy our last encounter."

"You'd be surprised. This is him trying to impress you."

"It's not working," she said, taking a few careful bites of her food and continuing to watch the goings on below them.

A thought occurred to Loki as he watched her watching Thor.

"It could have been him. What would you have done?"

She finished the drink of her wine, taking a second longer of a sip by tilting the glass back at the end of his question.

"As I have done with you. Welcomed him as the leader of my warriors."

"And would you have welcomed him to your bed?" Loki asked, both of curiosity and callous.

"I am bound by my agreement with Odin," she answered plainly.

He wanted to continue. Was it better? Did the child they bore together save the world or end it's suffering as theirs would? He could see that beautiful girl with his hair and her eyes. How she would bring peace to the nine realms. What of a child from Thor?

Gods, it angered him to think about it. Thor touching her soft skin, the privilege of it.

Would Freya be happier with an actual warrior?

Loki had never fought wars, he had only created them.

He felt he was likely creating one now.

"M'lady!" Thor called, parting the dancing warriors and women and standing before the table.

"Yes, Thor," she answered back quietly.

"May I have the honor of a dance with the most beautiful woman in the nine realms?" he asked, bowing slightly as he spoke. Loki looked from Thor to Freya, who was smirking a little as she stared down at the hulking, slightly drunk King.

"You may," she answered to the whooping cheers of the warriors. Of course they would cheer, they had a real warrior in their midst. Someone worthy of their lady Freya.

She stood, passing by Loki as she did, and made her way down to Thor. The music slowed and he took her hand, pulling her closely into him to dance.

The sight of it inflamed Loki. Thor was doing exactly as he always did, overshadowing him. Taking away everything Loki ever received.

"You scowl as though this all upsets you, yet you do not intervene," Hildr pointed out, taking up a post beside Loki.

"She is a free woman. She does as she wishes," he answered, trying to release the angry tension at his face.

"Does she? Or does she oft swallow that freedom for the whim of her people? Remember, for the entirety of your life, she has been here amongst many formidable and eligible warriors; still she waited for one of you. There is no outcome that does not ultimately bring forth Ragnarok. You both would bear children with her. She is a slave to continuing the Odinson family line. But she wanted to be happy, and so she hoped it to be with you. The man who is not a foolhardy carbon copy likeness of the man she hates. The loophole. Yet here you are, watching her dance with your brother and stewing on it like an angry child. Take what is yours as a man does, prove them wrong. Or leave, while the gate between this realm and Asgard are wide open. Leave. Because if you do not act at all, one way or another, you are not wanted here. Men of action, and honor, belong here. Nothing less."

Hildr glared hard at him as she spoke, for the first time really making eye contact with him. And although her words were harsh, it was not necessarily unfriendly advice. She even placed a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment before stepping back into wherever she came from.

He looked out at the floor. Freya was laughing about something, her left hand upon the chest plate of Thor's armor, her right hand holding his as they swayed to the quiet lilting music. His other hand was on her waist, softly scrunching the light fabric of her dress as he leaned in close to the side of her ear to speak to her. Her smile was beautiful, and it was for something he had said. She hadn't paid him not once glance this entire time. He was sitting, Thor's fool, at the head table without his betrothed. What was new? He had been Thor's fool all his life.

He could leave. He could pass back into the realm of the living, at the cost of Thor; he could rule Asgard. A small visceral twitch at the thought made him finally move in his seat in what felt like hours to his rigid muscles. Loki had wanted to take that throne from the time he was small. That throne, over the command of an army; over a bonded marriage to Freya that came with it, was an appeal and a feeling of immediate action he had to swallow back so he could try and think over everything Hildr said.

Ragnarok was inevitable. She'd mentioned the prophesied end of days, and how no matter what occurred it would come. That didn't role with Freya's version of their future. She said their daughter would bring peace amongst the realms for her entire life. But if Ragnarok came to be, there would be not a realm. Everything would be destroyed, the world drowned and plunged into darkness, and everyone with it.

There was a door, at least a metaphorical one, open before Loki that no one could see but him. He had to choose soon, if not right this moment, to stay here or to sacrifice his brother and leave Freya for the chance to rule Asgard.


	13. Chapter 13

"What are you doing?"

The question was a simple one, but loaded with venom from the stunningly passive face of Freya. Thor smirked a bit, leaning forward to speak to her more privately.

"At least pretend to look happy. Your people are watching you," he warned, staying leaned in closely to her. She relented, smiling a bit at the faces watching her; they were always watching her. She had to pretend to be happy to conviene with this larger than life version of her worst memories, to let the true blood son of Odin hold her in his arms. He smelled fresh, he cleaned up well, and like someone who didn't belong here; he was incredibly warm. It was strange, the feeling. She hesitated touching him. She had not laid hands on a living person in ages. She felt his pain, his recent sorrow, at her fingertips; requesting permission to soothe him. There was something else there, something that did not mesh with the rest of his anger and hurt. She did not want to touch it.

"You will give me back my brother. I know you have that power," he whispered sternly in her ear.

Freya chuckled a bit. This dance was not at all any type of diplomatic display, no attempt at a romantic interception. This was his chance at a quiet negotiation.

"And what if I do? What army do you bring to take him with?"

Thor's hand gripped more tightly to her, drawing her a bit closer.

She chose to allow it.

"Most often I don't need one. People usually throw Loki to me in chains as soon as I arrive. I'm trying to ascertain what spell he has you under."

Freya laughed at that.

"A spell? Do you believe me that weak?"

"No, I believe my brother that powerful, m'lady. I only seek to protect you. My father told me that you are the key to preventing Ragnarok."

Freya scoffed. That Odin would even speak of her at all, let alone have the nerve to place that burden upon her.

"Ragnarok is not my concern. Asgard is not my world. It is yours."

"Asgard is your concern. Because it is their world," he spun her around slowly, and she met the happy eyes of several of her warriors. Some Asgardian, all joyful in their partying.

"Their families live in Asgard, their children, their kin," he continued, spinning her around again, "they are both of our responsibilities. I owe their families, you owe them. We must not be enemies."

The way he spoke, again laced with the indiscernible intent, made Freya tense a bit. His fingers gripped the fabric of her dress about, pulling it about her waist and distracting her for a moment.

"Loki is not man enough for you. He wants a throne. He wants glory. You are beautiful, absolutely beautiful; but my father's throne is all he has ever loved. He would kill for it. He has killed for it. Not even his death will prevent him from finding a way. You will see, once Hildr tells him that he could sacrifice me to return to Asgard, he will go; if he has not gone from us already."

Her stomach knotted, her fingers tensing on him. He knew Loki well, and so did she; from a distance. It was his plan to test this, to see what Loki would do. And of course Hildr would have fed him that information; she, like most of the warriors, would want Thor here to serve alongside her. But Freya did not want Thor. She knew what he would bring to Folkvang. She had made her choice. And now, as she knew already; Loki was to make his.


	14. Chapter 14

Her face changed, she was no longer laughing, smiling; enjoying his brother's embrace. Her eyes found him quickly, still seated at the table.

He stood, though he was not sure why at first. She continued to watch him.

He remembered what it felt like laying beside her, her head on his chest. The serenity of her, the peace she brought him. And suddenly, with a burning heat, he recalled the nightmare he'd had about the throne; burning alive on it, unable to escape.

He found himself meeting the floor, the warriors parting for him.

"Brother," he said, offering his hand out to Freya. Thor took a step back, released her. Loki took Freya into his arms quickly, and she sank into him.

"Is everything okay?" he whispered to her. She did not answer, just moved with him quietly until the song was finished, her hands around his neck and laced in his hair with her face buried in his chest. He tried his best to console her, whatever Thor had said to her it seemed to truly have upset her.

The music ended, everyone separating as it did; except for them. Loki continued to hold Freya, feeling her quiet but labored breath hitch for moment. She pulled away suddenly, letting her hair fall across her face and swiping at her eyes. She grabbed a passing glass of wine and held it up.

"To the new king of Asgard, may his rule be prosperous and bring peace to the nine realms!" she said, her voice cracking a bit but unnoticed amongst the clinking of glasses and cheering.

Thor raised his glass as well.

"To my lady Freya, and her eternal beauty and grace. Her faith in my brother is unwavering, may he never disappoint," he said, the warriors all cheering and drinking heartily again.

Freya left quickly, without a word to anyone. Hildr took the reigns of ending the party, and warriors scattered drunkenly towards their quarters.

Thor slapped Loki hard on the shoulder, grabbing him up in a one-armed embrace.

"I like it here, brother! Your woman is very… hospitable. I think I'll stay a bit longer. See you in the morning," he said, squeezing Loki much tighter than he needed to and bounding off in the same direction as the Asgardian warriors.

Loki moved quickly, trying to follow where he'd seen Freya depart. She was likely putting the children to bed. He had to see her.


	15. Chapter 15

The door was ajar just enough that he could hear her. She was singing, her voice was soft, had led him here with it's sweet echo. It was a song he knew, all children who grew up in Asgard knew.

 _"Do you know how many stars are there, in the blue sky of the night?_ _Do you know how many clouds so fair, fly over Midgard's height?_ _Our gods do know their number,_ _None is missing, we may slumber_ _Do you know how many stars are there, in the blue sky of the night?"_

She paused to pull the covers over a sleeping child, patting their hair down and moving slowly to the other side of the room.

 _"Do you know how many children are sleeping safe and sound tonight?_ _And tomorrow rising happily in the morning's golden light?_ _Our gods do love them everyone, and each to them is dear and known._ _And they know and love you too, my children_ _and they know and love you all."_

After assuring them all set and sleeping, she turned to the doorway.

"Come in," she whispered to him, motioning him forward. He entered the room, a long and narrow one lined with beds all along it's walls. There were about twenty children, none older than 8; all sleeping soundly. She took a seat at the edge of the nearest bed, and gently patted the hair of a sleeping girl.

"They come here as all warriors do. Bravely. Without hesitation," she answered his unspoken question.

"In battle?" he asked.

"The world is always at war, Loki," she answered, smiling softly as the sleeping girl rustled a bit.

"And you choose them? For your army?"

It seemed ill logic. These children likely died the same as Loki did, in sacrifice. They were not battle-hardened or blood thirsty; most swords and axes outweighed them.

"I do. There are many excellent warriors I gave to the Allfather so that I may have them. I knew that they may be the only children I ever had."

She rose quietly from the bed and looked over the room again with a sad smile before motioning they step out. She closed the door silently behind them.

"I've been informed that Thor will be staying amongst us another day," she said after considerable silence. Though Loki had wanted to see her, alone; he was not sure what to do with her. She looked sad, though she did much to hide it behind a reserved face.

"Another day to charm you," Loki commented.

"I am not charmed by Thor. I am repulsed by him. As I am you. The both of you are truly Odinson."

"Me?" he responded incredulously. She stared into him and in an instant he knew. He honestly should have known. She was privy to all his tricks. She'd known him all his life.

She slapped him. At least, attempted to. Her hand passed through the illusion of him. And she too, quickly disappeared; re-appearing at the gates of Folkvang beside him.


	16. Chapter 16

The ornate gates lay open at the edge of the seemingly endless golden hills, a place you could find if only you were meant to. And Loki was, it was an option of his grand fate.

Freya had not expected this to be where he was. She had expected to appear in Asgard, to swoop down on him in her grand winged form; to peck his eyes out in anger for being a pawn in his schemes. But instead, she saw him standing along the gate, overlooking the kingdom of Asgard and the bifrost that connected the nine realms.

"For as long as I have lived, that was what I wanted," he said quietly, looking down as he spoke, "That kingdom, that throne. To truly feel like an Odinson. It remained my desire even after I learned that I was not Asgardian. If anything, the need became stronger; to rule meant there was no question. No doubt. I could be regarded as an equal to Thor. I was never his equal, not to the people of Asgard, not to our parents. I am not even his equal here, in what is to be my home now."

Freya took his hand, laced her fingers in his; and together they stood in silence and watched the kingdom of Asgard below them. She could feel his pain, his confusion; a lifetime of inadequacy and longing that it seemed over time had consumed him to the point of evil. She did not want to take it. She knew it made him who he was. And though he'd spent most of his living days being an evil man, she knew why. She knew who built him, and she forgave him. Even if he did not yet forgive himself.

"I chose you. I will continue to choose you. No matter what you decide."

"You would not hate me for leaving?" he asked, turning to her in surprise.

She continued watching the clouds passing above Asgard. Her face was so beautiful, even in her sadness. The constant, gentle breeze pulled her hair back and forth across her shoulders and face. His hand left hers to pull the hair back behind her ear. She glanced down for a moment.

"I could not hate you for anything I've wished for too. I will always have a bitter piece of me that wonders what kind of queen I would have been."

He continued to watch the woman beside him. If there was anyone who could ever understand him, it was her. She, before Loki was ever a thought, had ruled alongside Odin; fought wars with him, been the first Valkyrie. She, before Loki had been born, had been Odin's first betrayal.

"Come with me. Be the queen of Asgard, by my side. We can rule the nine realms together," Loki said, much too quickly with overgrown fervor. The moment he spoke he knew she would never agree to it. But he could try. All he could do was try.

"That is not my place. I have a life here, and these are my people. We must prepare for Ragnarok, to defend the nine realms against the end of days. This is my place and my home. I understand that it is not yours. You will do as you wish. I cannot fault you for that."

"You must already know what I will do. You must," he said, almost pleading.

"I only know what you could do. Not what you will do."

"What happens if I go?"

"It will bring forth Ragnarok," she answered simply, looking down at the picturesque view.

"And if I stay, the same," he replied. She nodded.

"The end times are inevitable. How it comes about changes, it changes every time and often. You must understand, Loki; you go, you will always go. I lose you every time, no matter what. I have been preparing to lose you since long before I had you."

"Does he stay?"

"Yes."

"And still, you chose me? Knowing that I would return to the world of the living, that I would leave you and our daughter behind?"

She nodded, now unable to remain passive. A single tear slid slowly down her face, a rolling reflection of the pain he was causing her. He could not take seeing it. He hated it.

He moved to her, took her up into his arms and held her head to his chest. She tried to push him back, but he held onto her more tightly and she relented to it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her, patting her hair and trying to soothe her. She shook her head a little, a protest to his apology.

"No one has ever loved me so much," he said quietly, a revelation even to himself.

Gods, the ache he felt in his chest at her pain. To be the fault of it, to be so arrogant and selfish. To even be standing here, to be looking out over this world. He closed his eyes, pulling her in more tightly and took them home.


	17. Chapter 17

Her room was dim save for the glimmering trio of mirrors, and the bath was dry; a fragrant set of candles burned along the bedside in its place, a soft and calming scent wafting through the air. She stayed clung to him, her face buried into his shoulder.

"Freya," he whispered her name softly, and she looked up at him.

"Loki," she whispered back.

"Fate can wait one night," he answered, leaning down and kissing her.

_

"He is here."

Freya rose from her throne slowly, the flowing white gown she wore moving gently with her as she did. Brisingamen hung at her neck, tilting ever so slightly as she did. Her pregnant belly hung prominent just below it, and she placed a hand upon it to steady herself.

Hildr reached her side quickly, her sword drawn. But Freya pushed her back, standing tall.

He was here. It was time.

He was a large creature, inexcusably so; he moved slowly into the room. He made the grandest hall in Folkvang look mediocre in size. His armor was battleworn, but the glove on his left hand shined bright, and empty.

"The goddess of love, Freya; a pleasure," he spoke quietly, meeting her eyes and smiling.

"You are not dead, you do not belong here," she answered back. His smile remained, his eyes falling to her prominent belly. He swept a line of dried blood from his brow and looked up to meet her face again.

"I'm not looking to stay. You know what I'm here for," he said passively, his attitude increasingly blase. He adjusted the Infinity gauntlet on his hand. It was empty, for now.

"And you know what I'm here for," Freya answered, standing firmly.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," he said, scrunching his massive hands into fists and relaxing them.

She took a deep breath, and though she already knew the ending; for her, for Hildr, for Thor, Loki, and Thanos; she still felt the nerves. She'd seen it all, the mirrors of Folkvang had shown every single version of it.

As she had heard of the man who guarded the Time Stone…

This was the only way.

She steadied herself, grabbing her bow and letting an arrow fall into her palm. Thanos did not flinch, but his smile finally fell from his smug face. He was surrounded now by the warriors of Folkvang; loyal to their leader, loyal to the woman who stood with an arrow pointed directly between his eyes.

Freya pulled back on her bow.

"Your mistake is thinking this was ever going to be easy."


End file.
